Death at the Abbey: The Flora Maguire Mysteries Book 2 by Anita Davison

Author:Anita Davison [Davison, Anita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

Flora barely spoke during the two-hundred-yard walk back to the abbey from the tram stop, where the entire town lay out below them like toy bricks scattered on a blanket. When the gates came into view, a memory returned and she clamped a hand on Bunny’s arm and jerked him backwards. ‘The cottage!’

‘What cottage?’ He peered at her over his spectacles.

‘I had completely forgotten. I found the cottage from my dream. It’s right here, on the estate.’

‘Are you sure?’ He frowned, then his face instantly cleared. ‘I’m sorry, of course you are. Is it close by?’

‘Yes, and no.’ Flora increased her stride along the drive back to the house so he had to hurry to keep up with her. ‘It’s on the far side of the stables down a rarely used lane. Well, rarely used by me anyway. Tom said it was a shortcut when he drove us back from Bailey Wood. I’d take you there now, but we ought to get back and change for dinner.’

‘I would like to see it, especially if you think you once lived there when you were small.’

‘I can’t be sure.’ Flora gave this some thought as they climbed the front steps and pushed open the main door. ‘I was certain when I saw it that it had once been home, but I cannot find anything else out about it. Jocasta wasn’t much help. I know something happened there which affected me enough to recur in my dreams for all these years.’

‘You would think someone here at the abbey must know what happened.’ Bunny retrieved a letter from the hall table as they passed, their climb up to the second floor accompanied by the sonorous clang of the dressing bell in the hall below.

‘Someone must. I just have to find out who.’ Flora’s mouth watered at the thought of dinner and she hoped she could last another hour without her stomach grumbling.

Before entering the bedroom, Flora paused in her father’s sitting room and rested a hand on the backrest of the right-hand wing chair set before the tiny iron fireplace. Her father’s chair. A clear memory returned of the thousands of times he had sat with his head tilted back against the upholstery. He had always been such a gentle man, self-contained and firm, but without a malicious bone in him. Who would want to murder him? And why?

‘We’ll find out what happened, Flora,’ Bunny said, guessing her thoughts, his eyes sad but determined. He stood at the open bedroom door and shrugged out of his jacket.

‘I hate to think someone on the estate might be responsible. I lived here all my life. Suppose it’s someone I know?’ Flora took a deep breath and removed her hand from the chair, then went to join him. ‘No matter how unsavoury, we have to find out the truth.’ She turned her back to him so he could undo the row of buttons on her dress.

‘The alternative is that we ignore those newspaper clippings and write off the second set of hoof prints.

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